


Won't Be Good For Long

by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (or safe... signal? but same vibe), 20 percent hurt 80 percent comfort, Bad Sex Practices, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Rough Sex, Safeword Fail, Safeword Use, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, geralt is a dramatic ass bitch, mentions of blood and injury, setting boundaries during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/stfustucky
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt learn a little about the limits of the human body when faced with witcher strength, the importance of communication in the bedroom, and how to protect the person you love, even if it's from yourself.(In other words, Geralt accidentally gets a little too rough with Jaskier during sex and they have to talk about it like grownups. Gross.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 662





	Won't Be Good For Long

**Author's Note:**

> _"Too much of a good thing won't be good for long..." -Sam Smith, Good Thing_
> 
> Let me get up on my soapbox for a minute and yell about how JASKIER IS A HUMAN AND COULD NOT POSSIBLY KEEP UP WITH A WITCHER ALL THE TIME. Don't get me wrong, I love his magical bard powers that allow him to have endless rough sex just as much as the next guy, but I also wanted to see some sex mishaps and some Jaskier waving the white flag. Kinda sorta not really companion fic to my work "I Just Need to Feel You" in which it's Jaskier's feels that get pushed too far. Shoutout to all my fellow softies out there.
> 
>  **TRIGGER INFO:** Warnings for injury, angst, and unsafe sex practices. See the end note for a description of the events of the fic. Be safe!
> 
> Thanks to the lovely @dls for the stellar beta work!

“Fuuu-uck,” Jaskier moans, his voice breaking in the middle of the word in a very unbardlike manner. 

“I will, don’t worry,” Geralt smugly replies. He will never cease being satisfied by the fact that he has the power to make Jaskier fall apart like this. The man is usually so calm and collected, so perfectly poised regardless of the situation. Watching him be reduced to begging is a kind of heady that Geralt has never felt before. “You ready for it?”

“It’s fine, I can take it!” Jaskier’s chest is heaving as he pants for air, and his feet scrabble for purchase on the bed so that he can push his hips down, trying to work Geralt’s fingers deeper inside of him. He’s always trying to be full, always begging for more. It’s gorgeous. “Come on, don’t make me wait.”

The witcher would chuckle at his eagerness if he didn’t worry it might hurt his chances of actually getting to fuck Jaskier-- not a risk he’s willing to take, just now. Instead, Geralt hums in agreement and slides his fingers out of Jaskier. “Alright, how do--”

The second he gives Jaskier an inch of free reign the man is rolling over onto his stomach and lifting his hips into the air, presenting his hole to Geralt. It’s how he always wants it. He says that it makes him feel like he’s brimming, like it lets him get every last inch of Geralt’s cock exactly how he likes it. He throws a smile over his shoulder at Geralt, eyes hungry. “How do I want you to fuck me? You should know better than to ask, darling. You know the answer.”

“‘With everything I’ve got,’” Geralt purrs into his ear. Yes, he knows his place well.

Jaskier is tight when Geralt slides his cock inside, the muscles fluttering around him as he adjusts to the intrusion. Geralt pushes in slowly, an inch at a time, smoothing his hands over Jaskier’s lower back to distract him. Eventually he’s pressed all the way inside, his hips flush to the curve of Jaskier’s backside, and Jaskier is panting harder than ever. He isn’t the only one, either, Geralt’s own breath coming a little ragged with the sensation of Jaskier’s body greedily swallowing his cock.

“Are you--”

“Fucking move,” Jaskier demands, rocking his hips back into Geralt’s.

Let it never be said that Geralt doesn’t know how to do as he’s told. He grabs a firm hold of Jaskier’s hips and holds them steady as he pulls back and then thrusts back in, slowly at first, then quicker as Jaskier’s body gives in to him and Geralt finds his rhythm. The bard snatches one of the inn’s scratchy pillows and buries his face in it, no doubt trying to prevent them from getting kicked out in the middle of the night on the grounds of a noise complaint. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

After the length of time that Jaskier had spent drooling on his cock earlier tonight, Geralt doesn’t anticipate it taking very long to work an orgasm out of the both of them. Jaskier is always easy, sensitive and responsive in a way Geralt’s never seen before, though Jaskier always claims it’s just the effect that Geralt in particular has on him. He’s certainly writhing now, hips attempting to buck within Geralt’s firm grip, unable to so much as twitch when faced with Geralt’s superior strength.

Geralt focuses his energy on thrusting deep and hard inside of Jaskier, just the way his lover likes it. He couldn’t give a rat’s arse about speed, Jaskier had told Geralt the first time they’d coupled, he just likes to  _ feel _ it, from his fingertips to his toes. He likes the impact of their bodies meeting, and the fullness of Geralt deep inside of him, and the way that --when Geralt does his job right-- it takes days for him to lose the pleasant soreness in his body. That’s what he always craves, and what Geralt always strives to give him.

Jaskier moans into the pillow when Geralt pulls almost all the way out and then pushes back in firmly, his hole clenching around Geralt every time. Not for the first time, Geralt finds himself idly wishing that there was some sort of home for him, somewhere he could take Jaskier and lay him in a nice bed and let him make all the noise he wants to without fear of disturbing patrons at the inn or witchers in the keep or passing beasts in the woods.

A sudden note of pain in Jaskier’s aroma pulls Geralt from his thoughts, and he slows his hips to a gentle rock while he leans forward across Jaskier’s back. He takes a careful handful of Jaskier’s hair and turns his head to the side so he can see his lover’s face. “Are you alright? I smell pain.”

“I’m fine, it’s good,” Jaskier gasps, reaching back to pull at Geralt’s hips. “Gods, don’t stop.”

Geralt releases his hold on Jaskier’s hair and resumes his pace, ignoring the lingering scent of pain and the way Jaskier’s heartbeat skitters around in his chest. It’s offset by the fact that Jaskier’s cock is still hard when Geralt reaches under them to stroke it, dripping the beginnings of his seed onto the sheets below them. Jaskier’s hands fist in the sheets and Geralt hears him babbling  _ yes, there we go, fuck me _ into the pillow with every thrust.

He sets up a rhythm between his hand and his cock, pushing and pulling Jaskier between the two hard and fast. Jaskier practically wails, hips trying harder than ever to buck out of Geralt’s control, but the witcher won’t let him move away. He has Jaskier exactly where he wants him, and exactly where Jaskier himself wants to be. The lithe body beneath him starts to still, his muscles going tense, and Geralt knows with the familiarity of countless such nights that Jaskier is about to spill for him.

And Jaskier does, with a keening noise that Geralt wants to drown in, his cock jerking in Geralt’s hand and spurting warm seed across his fingers that only serves to make the glide of his hand smoother. Geralt is careful to keep his motions consistent, to continue working Jaskier through his orgasm until he goes slack with relief as he always does, pliant and easy in his post-sex haze.

Jaskier’s hips cant forward towards the bed and Geralt lets him readjust how he likes, moving with him as Jaskier lays flat on the bed. Geralt drapes himself over him like a blanket, motion of his hips slowing. Pressed together like this, it’s easy for Geralt to feel the tension in Jaskier’s whole body, muscles tight like he’s bracing. He starts to pull out, content to relieve himself in some other manner, but Jaskier’s hand reaching behind himself to grab a handful of Geralt’s thigh stops him. “It’s okay,” he says with heaving breath, “don’t stop. I can take it. Keep going.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt hums, as close to  _ thank you, I love you  _ as he can get when he feels his own orgasm fast approaching.

He tries to make quick work of it, taking what he needs from Jaskier as the bard lets out breathy little  _ uh uh uh _ sounds beneath him. He can’t help but take advantage of how giving Jaskier is like this, sinking his teeth into Jaskier’s shoulder just to make him whimper and give him a bite mark to lave his tongue over. Jaskier turns his head to the side, eyes scrunched closed, and reaches a hand back to tangle posessively in Geralt’s hair.

“Come for me, please, my witcher,” Jaskier groans, body jerking under Geralt’s as he pumps his hips eagerly. “There we go, fill me up, love, take what you need, come on--”

His words get to Geralt the way they always do, and he tucks his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck to cover his moan as he pushes his cock deep inside of Jaskier and comes. Jaskier clenches tight around him, seeming to hold onto his cock as Geralt ruts his hips shallowly to chase the sensation. It takes a few moments for Geralt to still, Jaskier still tight around him, and Geralt kisses whatever part of Jaskier he can reach while they both regain their breath.

“You are perfection,” Geralt says, voice half a growl, as he slowly withdraws from Jaskier. There’s another spike of pain-scent and Jaskier’s hips twitch, but Geralt soothes away his discomfort with a gentle palm and hushing noise. “Move over, Jask, out of the wet spot.”

Jaskier obeys, shifting over to flop on his belly on the unmarred side of the bed, and Geralt spends a long few minutes running his hands all over Jaskier’s limp body. He hums as he does so, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s skin every time he comes across a beautiful part of him-- which is just about everywhere. The tension leaves Jaskier’s body like a physical thing and he mewls with each bit of wordless praise, silently allowing Geralt to dote on him in the afterglow without needing to narrate things like he does the rest of the time.

(Not that Geralt would ever admit aloud how much he likes the peace and quiet that comes when he’s done fucking Jaskier. He’d rather not lose the privilege.)

Once Jaskier’s scent becomes a happy bloom of contentment, Geralt withdraws from the bed and dampens a cloth in the washbasin. He uses it to clean Jaskier’s stomach and his softened cock, gently, then swipes it between his legs as well to remove the little bit of oil and Geralt’s come that’s starting to leak out. If he were a better man he might do a better job of cleaning his lover there, but Geralt can’t bring himself to. The longer he can keep Jaskier full of his come and smelling of him, the better. 

“Water?” he asks Jaskier, kissing the man’s cheek. There are some tear tracks there, dried, and Geralt resists the temptation to lick the salt off of his skin.

Jaskier makes a little noise that Geralt can’t interpret one way or another, so he goes to the pitcher on the table and retrieves a cup of cool water for Jaskier anyways. Returning to the bed, he presses the wooden cup into Jaskier’s hand, grunting insistently to prompt him to take hold of it and lift his head to take a few gulps. Satisfied that he’s at least had some, Geralt allows him to push the cup away and places it back on the table.

It’s too late to bribe the inkeep with a few coins for a fresh change of sheets now, with Jaskier all but asleep in his blissed-out state, so Geralt just takes one of their discarded shirts from the floor and throws it on top of the wet spot from Jaskier’s come before laying on it. It isn’t perfectly comfortable, but it’s good enough for him. He pulls the blanket up to cover Jaskier’s body and then snuggles in close, his hand curled around Jaskier’s waist and his thumb slowly stroking the soft skin there as they both breathe out a sigh together.

“I love you,” Geralt murmurs, because he knows that he doesn’t say the phrase nearly enough. He never could, not enough to express the depth of its truth, not even if he spent each of his waking breaths saying it.

Blue eyes peek open and smile across the pillow at him above pinkened cheeks. “And I you, my darling witcher.”

………………… 

The next morning sees Geralt waking with the sun, as usual. Daylight calls to him, urging him to action, but he can feel Jaskier warm and relaxed in his arms and that’s a stronger pull. He runs his hand lightly up and down Jaskier’s back, just once, unable to resist the temptation to touch him. Jaskier stirs but doesn’t wake, rolling over and reaching out a leg to tangle with Geralt’s as he snores lightly.

A metallic scent lanced its way into Geralt’s awareness, jerking him fully awake.  _ Blood.  _ Human blood, and more specifically Jaskier’s. Alarmed, Geralt throws back the covers and searches Jaskier’s body at once, ignoring his partner’s confused protests as he, too, is roused from sleep. Jaskier is injured somewhere, he has to be, or else Geralt would have no occasion to smell his least favorite scent on the continent.

As Jaskier struggles to sit up, Geralt finally locates the source of his concern. Smeared between Jaskier’s thighs is a mess of Geralt’s come from the night before, and mixed in with the creamy white is a marbling of red-- tiny traces of blood. From  _ inside Jaskier. _

“You’re hurt,” Geralt bites out, instantly furious with himself. It’s no mystery how the injury had gotten there. Especially not since Geralt notices now the purple bruises surfacing on Jaskier’s hips, perfect parallel lines like vise-tight witcher fingers. He’s responsible for hurting Jaskier. There’s no way to avoid that truth.

“Huh?” Jaskier mumbles, rubbing his eyes with one hand? “What are you talking about?  _ Fuck  _ it’s early, Geralt, come back to bed. I’m sure the whatever monster are out there waiting for you to slay them will be alright for another hour or two.”

“You’re  _ hurt,” _ Geralt repeats, pulling his arm --gently, gently-- out of Jaskier’s grip so that he can move off of the bed and retrieve the washbasin and his bag with medical supplies. He carries more of such things these days, with Jaskier in tow, always fearing that he’ll be caught unaware with his human hurt and in need and not be able to help him. He’d never anticipated that  _ he _ would be the one responsible, though he supposes he should have guessed as much, all things considered. He was built to hurt things.

“I’m not hurt,” Jaskier argues, blinking at him. “I’m a little sore, sure--”

But then he shifts, and winces, and Geralt doesn’t even need to smell his spike of pain to know the truth. “Lie back, please,” he says shortly, trying not to snap. His anger isn’t directed at Jaskier anyways. When the man obeys, Geralt goes to reach for his legs and stops short. “Can I touch you?”

“Of course you can,” Jaskier answers, with something akin to bewilderment in his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s  _ wrong _ is that you’re bleeding inside,” Geralt grits out, wetting a fresh cloth and using it to clean Jaskier between his legs. He tries to be thorough while also brushing against Jaskier’s skin with only the faintest of touches, loathe to hurt him again. “It’s my fault, I was too rough with you.”

He shows the rag, faintly pinkened, to Jaskier. The man grimaces, but then shrugs. “It’s not that bad. I’ll live. No harm, no foul.”

Geralt glares at him, hands hovering uncertainly. There’s not much else he can think to do, with no wounds visible to treat. Should he send for a healer? “There  _ was _ harm, and there  _ was  _ foul. I should have known better than to fuck you like that.”

It isn’t a challenge, but apparently Jaskier takes it as one. “I told you to,” he tells Geralt defiantly, his chin high and eyes fiery. “It wasn’t too much for me, I could handle it.”

“If it draws blood, Jaskier, it’s too much. That isn’t negotiable.”

“I didn’t even notice you were hurting me!”

Something acrid spoils the air between them, and Geralt snaps his head up to look at Jaskier sharply. “Are you-- are you  _ lying _ to me?”

Jaskier at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself, having been caught. “Alright, so I noticed. But I- well, I like it a little rough, you know that. It still felt good, even though it hurt. I’m not some weakling, I can handle a little pain.”

“You can  _ handle it?” _ Geralt echoes, body flushing with anger, and he stands and turns his back to Jaskier. “I don’t want you to  _ tolerate _ sex with me, Jaskier, like I’m some fucking monster forcing himself on you!”

He hears Jaskier’s sharp intake of breath behind him. “Geralt, that’s not it at all, don’t be ridiculous!”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” Geralt grits out, whipping back around to look at Jaskier, who has his knees pulled up to his chest and looks miserable. “There’s blood on the sheets and you’re telling me that you knew I was hurting you and didn’t stop me. Do you think so little of me, that I wouldn’t stop immediately if I knew you were hurt?”

“Of course not,” Jaskier groans. He buries his face in his hands, shoulders tense. “God, of course not. But I just-- I hate being a burden to you all the time! I didn’t want you to have to stop feeling good on my account.”

There’s the unmistakable sound of tears in Jaskier’s voice, and that makes Geralt stop and take several long, measured breaths. The last thing he wants to do is drive a wedge between the two of them. He may not be the most emotionally intelligent man, but he’s learned to stop self-sabotaging good things in his life at every turn, at least.

Slowly, carefully, Geralt moves back to the bed and sits so that he can rest his hands on Jaskier’s knees, thumbing gently at his skin. Another deep breath in and out. “If I had known I was hurting you that much, I would have happily stopped and done something else. There’s more than one way for me to… enjoy myself.” Jaskier doesn’t answer, still hiding behind his hands, so Geralt continues. “You do realize this is one of the things that I fear most about… us?”

Jaskier looks up at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

It’s an old argument, just hashed out in a new way. “My presence in your life is a danger to you. From monsters, from humans with hatred, and from myself. I know you don’t think of it that way, but it’s true. I could hurt you easily, without even trying. Obviously.” He reaches out and brushes his fingertips across the bruises on Jaskier’s left hip before withdrawing once more to the safety of Jaskier’s knees. “I’m selfish enough to still want you. But for fuck’s sake, I can’t do this if you’re going to lie to me about whether you’re hurt.”

Mouth twisting in a grimace, Jaskier drops his eyes to Geralt’s hands and then covers them with his own. “It seems I’m the one who’s done harm here, my dear heart,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to think that it was better not to speak up. I know how hard you work to keep me safe and well, and I should have known how deeply bothered you’d be.”

Geralt turns his hands so that they’re holding Jaskier’s, then presses a kiss to the back of each of them. “I know you like it... on the edge, but you shouldn’t have to grit your teeth on my account. I have to be able to trust you to tell me when it’s too much. The  _ second _ it’s too much. I can’t hurt you and live with myself, Jaskier. Understand?”

Jaskier unfurls like a flower in the sun and wraps his arms around Geralt’s middle. “I understand, and I promise. And I love you, very much.”

The kiss that Geralt presses against his mouth is tinged with anxiety, still, but relief flutters in his chest. He hums into the kiss, and hopes that’s enough.

………………… 

If all who called Geralt a butcher could see him now, they would eat their tongues. It had never been an apt moniker, Jaskier reflects; Geralt has always been far more discerning and merciful than anyone but Jaskier gave him credit for, and would always choose letting someone live over letting their blood stain his swords any day. Now though, he’s downright delicate.

Jaskier could kick himself, honestly, for his mistake that night in the inn. It’s been three weeks since Geralt woke up in a panic, frenzied at the thought of having hurt him, and he’s yet to stop treating Jaskier like he’s made of glass. They at least had gotten past the point where Geralt was too skittish to touch him whatsoever --which had lasted two days-- and the point where he’d refused to fuck Jaskier --which had lasted until the bruises on his hips faded. Now they were just in a strange sort of limbo where every time Jaskier tries to initiate something, Geralt makes love to him.

Which is fine. Which is  _ great, _ really, because any time spent naked with Geralt is time well spent. Far be it from Jaskier to look that gift horse in the mouth. And there’s definitely something erotic about being treated like royalty, certainly, and being worshipped by one who could be a god.

Except…

Jaskier never pushes, would never  _ dream _ of pushing after having seen the hurt blooming in Geralt’s golden eyes that morning, but he can’t help but wish in a very small and very secret part of his heart for something a little more. There was something ever so slightly lacking in the gentle rock of Geralt’s hips, something not quite sparking in Jaskier as he lays on his back and looks up into Geralt’s eyes, watching the witcher scan him constantly for signs of unease.

It always feels good, and both of them always come. It’s just that Jaskier hasn’t felt his whole body shake apart with an orgasm underneath Geralt’s for  _ weeks, _ and it kind of makes him want to scream with frustration.

Which is how he finds himself --not quite  _ begging, _ exactly, he’s got a little bit more dignity than that left, but  _ pleading,  _ certainly-- for a little something extra to push him along with Geralt moving inside of him. He’s on his back on the bedroll, a fire warming his left side and Geralt warming the rest of him. Geralt is rocking smoothly into him, measured and careful, ignoring the desperate clutch of Jaskier’s legs around his hips and the way his shoulders are assaulted by Jaskier’s fingernails.

“Darling, please, it’s not enough,” Jaskier whines, knowing even as the words come out of his mouth that he’s being a brat. Two years ago he would have happily killed a man for the privilege of this right here. He can’t help what he craves, though. “I need more, I can’t come like this.”

“I’ll make sure you come,” Geralt says immediately. There’s no trace of doubt in his voice, and Jaskier feels a flutter in his stomach at the knowledge that he gives Jaskier’s pleasure the same single-minded focus that he gives to any hunt. His whole body twitches and arches up off the mat when Geralt follows up on the promise with a lick up the side of Jaskier’s throat. “Don’t I always? I know how to please you, little bird.”

Hope flares to life in Jaskier, only to be dashed as Geralt wraps his hand around Jaskier’s cock to stroke it steadily. He sags back onto the mat, turning his face to the side to hide the disappointment that he’s sure flashes across his face. That isn’t what he needs, but if it’s what Geralt wants…

No. Jaskier turns his face back towards Geralt, ignoring the infuriatingly concerned look on his face, and reaches up to take hold of the witcher firmly by the back of his neck. “Geralt. Love. Precious heart of my heart. You wanted me to be honest about what is and isn’t working for me, right? This isn’t.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Geralt already knows exactly what he’s asking for. For a second, Jaskier thinks his efforts have been in vain, because Geralt is leaning back like he might be about to pull out--

\--but Geralt just sighs heavily, taking one of Jaskier’s legs and hitching it up over his shoulder and pressing a soft kiss to Jaskier’s calf before snapping his hips into Jaskier’s with a little more energy than before.

Jaskier’s eyes slam shut with pleasure immediately, and he makes sure to let the moan that builds up in his chest so that Geralt can hear exactly how  _ yes yes yes _ this change of pace is. The new angle lets his cock slide deeper into Jaskier, and that extra measure of force behind it could make Jaskier weep tears of joy. There it is, a proper fucking, exactly what Jaskier needs, and he grips frantically at Geralt’s hand planted on the ground next to Jaskier’s hip as the words start spilling from the lips.

“Gods, that’s  _ perfection,  _ love, just like that,” he pants, and is mortified to feel a little tear escaping the corner of his eye from the relief of it. “I’ve been missing this, fuck. You feel so good inside of me, Geralt, I can’t even describe it--  _ fuck _ you’re incredible! Right there, please, right  _ fucking _ there--”

Geralt doesn’t respond aloud beyond a hum that sounds rather keening, but Jaskier can tell the effect the words have on him by the way that he starts leaning into it, getting incrementally faster, pressing Jaskier’s leg ever closer to his chest as Geralt folds him in half. The wolf shows his teeth, too, sinking a bite into Jaskier’s calf, and the resulting twitch of Jaskier’s body leaves Geralt bearing down on him harder than ever.

There’s pleasure, but there’s also a harsh whip of discomfort as the muscles in the back of Jaskier’s thigh protest the way they’re being asked to stretch. He winces, tapping at the bedroll next to him with one hand. “Easy, easy, I don’t quite bend like that, love,” he grunts, half laughing. “I’m not a teenager anymore, you know.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Jaskier thinks that Geralt is about to put an end to things, because suddenly the movement of his hips stops altogether. Jaskier snaps his eyes open, ready to argue his case for anything  _ but _ Geralt stopping, but his breath catches in his chest at the sight of Geralt looking down at him with a grin on his face. Maybe it’s the firelight, but he looks like he’s glowing.

“You stopped me,” Geralt hums, sounding pleased.

“I hardly told you to  _ stop,” _ Jaskier huffs, his own face falling into an answering smile in spite of himself. “Just need a little adjustment, that’s all. Yeah?”

Geralt gently lets Jaskier’s leg down off of his shoulder and leans down to kiss him bruisingly, snapping his hips into Jaskier a few times as he does so. He only stops when Jaskier’s toes curl and a whine is pulled from his throat. At that, Geralt actually  _ does _ pull out, quickly rolling Jaskier over onto his hands and knees and pushing right back into him. 

“Fucking--  _ yes,  _ Gods, Geralt, that’s what I needed,” the bard moans, head dropping as all he can focus on is the feeling of Geralt’s cock moving over his prostate just right. “Your hand--my cock--  _ please, _ Geralt!”

He doesn’t need to say more, and Geralt gives him what he wants. A strong, warm hand reaches around and takes Jaskier’s cock, tight and slick with Geralt’s spit, giving Jaskier a tight channel to fuck into with each of Geralt’s thrusts. It’s all so goddamn  _ good _ all of a sudden, every nerve ending from the top of his head to the soles of his feet giving a victory screech, and when Geralt’s chest drapes across Jaskier’s back they both arch together.

The orgasm hits Jaskier like a grapeshot blast, a long, low moan forcing its way out of his lungs. His arms and legs tremble, and suddenly it's only Geralt’s hands holding him up from faceplanting into the bedroll. Very dimly he’s aware of Geralt still working his cock, and of Geralt giving a groan of his own as he comes inside of Jaskier with only a few more thrusts. Mostly he’s just aware of his pulse pounding in his ears.

Geralt eases out of him, and there’s a cloth wiping at Jaskier’s mess, and then Jaskier’s being slowly lowered onto the bedroll. He knows that his limbs are quaking, breaths shallow and quick, and that Geralt’s hands are running tenderly across his back and over the swell of his arse and down the length of his legs. Those barely-there touches feel like lightning, and Jaskier’s trembling body tries valiantly to arch into his fingertips.

Then come the kisses, slow and firm, all over his skin, as if Geralt is trying to confess his love to each individual inch of Jaskier’s body. He treats every quivering inch of him like its own miracle, and Jaskier would write a ballad about it if he had a single thought left in his head other than  _ Geralt Geralt Geralt Geralt. _

“Kiss me,” he mumbles, a demand and a plea all at once, and Geralt doesn’t hesitate to oblige. His mouth is hungry and eager on Jaskier’s, and the bard finds himself willing his body to piece itself together sooner rather than later. Geralt doesn’t taste like he’s done for the night, and Jaskier knows that  _ he _ sure as hell isn’t.

“Good?” Geralt asks when they pull apart. He noses at Jaskier’s jaw, breathing in deep. Scenting him. He must only smell contentment, because Jaskier feels him smile against his cheek.

“Just right,” sighs Jaskier, stretching his limbs out and relishing the way that they still refuse to fully cooperate with his demands. “Now kiss me again, so it doesn’t have to end.”

Let it never be said that his wolf can’t follow an order.

**Author's Note:**

>  **TRIGGER INFO:** Jaskier is very briefly and very minorly injured during sex because he failed to tell Geralt it was uncomfortable for him, prioritizing Geralt's pleasure over his own safety. Everything is consensual and mostly enjoyed. Geralt is upset about having hurt Jaskier and they have a talk about honest communication during sex to make sure everybody's having a good time. Fix-it sex at the end where they prove they know how to use their big boy words now.
> 
> Myself and some other cool cats and kittens have started an 18+ Geraskier writer's group on discord to do sprints, bounce ideas, beta, and encourage each other. If that sounds like something you'd be into, let me know!
> 
> stfustucky | tumblr


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